


Me and You and a Pain Pill Makes Two

by devra



Category: NCIS
Genre: Hurt/Comfort, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-06-25
Updated: 2018-06-25
Packaged: 2019-05-28 03:14:23
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,409
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15039449
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/devra/pseuds/devra
Summary: This wasn’t even a probie type of mistake. It was rookie cop mistake. Never getting involved in a domestic dispute without back up is akin to never get involved in a land war in Asia





	Me and You and a Pain Pill Makes Two

**Author's Note:**

> Always for Annie. For her beta capabilities but more importantly for her friendship. This has been sitting on my hard drive for many months ... Again, I take blame for any and all mistakes

Tim was exhausted, so exhausted in fact that he was positive when he went home with downtime of seventy two hours stretching over the horizon, he’d sleep for seventy one of those hours, give or take an hour for a bathroom break and snack. 

He hadn’t expected to be shoved into groggy wakefulness when the bed started to shake. Alertness slammed into him when something hit him in the forehead then bounced off his nose. Earthquake? Ceiling falling? Tim jerked upright. Washington wasn’t along any fault lines—

“I can’t open the damn child proof bottle.” The voice was clipped, emotionless. “I need a pain pill.”

The space to his left was empty, the covers tossed back, the pillows haphazardly thrown against the headboard. The room was lit only by the illuminations of the outside street lamps peeking through the blinds but even in the hazy, dim shadows as Tony fixed Tim with an accusatory glare, there was no disputing the fact he looked downright terrible. 

“Sorry,” Tim muttered, throwing back the quilt and scooping up the bottle of pills Tony had dropped on him. “Come back to bed…” 

“No. Not comfortable.”

“I’m sorry,” Tim reiterated.

Tony’s mumbled, his under the breath response sounded almost like ‘you should be’ but Tim didn’t want to ask Tony to clarify (he wasn’t that stupid). 

NcisNcisNcisNcis

Tim shadowed Tony down the narrow hallway and with one arm hugging his side and the other holding onto the wall to steady his ninety year old shuffle, Tim began to question his sanity (and his intelligence) at being convinced, or maybe coerced was a more apropos word, that Tony shouldn’t have been admitted to the hospital. 

NcisNcisNcisNcis  
Tucked into the corner of the couch, Tony’s body was rigid with pain. The fingers of Tony’s uninjured right arm were clamped in a death grip on his right knee. Gently, Tim gently peeled them off and turned the shaking hand palm side up. He deposited two pain pills then waited expectantly to be questioned on the dosage. But to his surprise there wasn’t even a second hesitation as Tony blindly popped them into his mouth. Tim shoved a bottle of water into Tony’s now empty hand keeping silent when Tony swallowed just enough water to avoid choking on the pills. 

With great trepidation, Tim lowered his body close (but not too close) to Tony, barely breathing, sliding his gaze sideways. Waiting. 

This was all Tim’s fault (well, not the injury, that was a discussion for another time) but Tony’s level of pain. The pain medication the hospital had given his reluctant partner had taken more than the edge off and they had come home to Tim’s apartment, eaten and then crashed. Ridiculously obvious now that they had slept more than the recommended time between pain dosages. He should’ve set the alarm. Paid attention. “Stupid.”

“Understatement,” Tony ground out between clenched teeth. 

“No,” Tim hurriedly added. “Me stupid. Not you stupid.”

Tony huffed. “Are you sure you’re an MIT graduate?” 

“I only meant—“ Tim stopped, sighed.

“It was a rookie mistake.”

Wrong place. Wrong time. All Tony had done was draw the short straw to pick up his and Bishop’s food order. Gibbs was out of town with Vance so a slew of cold cases led to boredom. Which led to a discussion of trying something different for lunch. Which lead to Bishop pulling out a flyer to a new restaurant, pizza, heroes, etc. etc. Local. So new that delivery wasn’t yet an option but it was within walking distance. Tony had wanted Chinese but majority had ruled and he and Ellie had won. Tony had lost, big time. He had walked into a domestic dispute in this brand spanking new eatery, between the only two other customers in the building, a husband and wife, the latter had grabbed a knife from the table the second Tony had slapped the cuffs on her husband. Even hindered by the black eye she’d been gifted with just as Tony had walked onto the scene, she had enough visual acuity to use that Ginsu style knife (what the hell does one need a knife that can slice a soda can in a pizza place) and basically fileted Tony from shoulder to wrist. 

The restaurant was close enough that they’d beaten the ambulance. A Freddy Krugerish scene greeted them, complete with blood. Knives. Screaming. And a white faced. Thin lipped. Bleeding. Totally in control, Tony. 

Tim had ridden with Tony in the ambulance while Ellie stayed behind to deal with the LEOs. He’d been pissed, hurt hadn’t truly set in. Not yet. Anger over a missed lunch, ruined jacket fueled his adrenaline. How annoyed Gibbs was gonna be. Coherent enough to tell Tim exactly what had happened. And how stupid he’d been to get involved in a domestic dispute. 

Now, on the couch, Tim tentatively moved a hair closer to Tony and attempted to valiantly clear up his ‘stupid’ comment. “I wasn’t referring to you as being stupid, I meant—“

Tony wasn’t having any of it. “This wasn’t even a probie type of mistake. It was rookie cop mistake. Never getting involved in a domestic dispute without back up is akin to never get involved in a land war in Asia.” 

“You didn’t know the wife—“ Tim hesitated. “Um—Princess Bride?” 

Tony nodded, then exhaled. Slowly. 

Tim spared a furtive sideways glance at Tony giving a mental “woohoo” as Tony’s breathing deepened. “Feeling better?” he ventured.

Tony giggled. 

“I’ll take that as a yes.” 

Tony’s hand drunkenly patted the space between them. “Watcha doing all the way over there, McNightingale.”

Afraid of jostling Tony’s injured arm, Tim incrementally slid over, watching his face for any sign of discomfort. 

“Come on closer, it’s okay. I’m not gonna break.” Tony’s grin was lopsided. “You have about ten minutes to enjoy this before I start to drool.”

“Enjoy?” He was indignant. Okay, he would never admit it to anyone, especially Tony, that the man on painkillers was adorable. “I don’t enjoy you getting hurt.”

Tony snorted then dropped his head heavily on the back of the couch. “Me neither. The pills. Remember the last time I got hurt?”

Tim would rather not. There had been blood and bullets—“Yes.”

“You took me home. Then took advantage of me.”

“What?” Tim sat up straighter, swiveled around and stared at Tony. “I. Took. Advantage. Of. You?” 

“Yes. You tucked me into bed, fluffed my pillows adjusted my blanket then kissed me.”

“No, you kissed me.”

“Pffft, you’re funny. I remember distinctly—“ Tony yawned, then closed his eyes. 

Tim opened his mouth to protest (how dare he fall asleep mid argument) and reluctantly admitted defeat as Tony’s breathing evened out. Tony and painkillers zero to sixty in a matter of minutes. 

NcisNcisNcis

He brought the pillows and blanket to the couch. It was easier to bring the mountain to Mohammad rather than try and move a drugged, dead weight, drooling, snoring Tony to the bedroom. Tim maneuvered his pliant body into a more comfortable looking position, gently placed the pillow under Tony’s injured appendage, lifted his legs so they rested on the coffee table. He covered Tony with the blanket, quietly stepping over his outstretched legs and without thought planted a tender kiss on his forehead. 

Tony opened one eye. “See, I told you so. You kissed me.”

Tim plopped down on the couch, snatching some of the blanket off Tony and draping it around his own body. “Okay, I kissed you. “

“Not so bad, is it?” 

“What, kissing you? No.” Why was he having a conversation with a man who at the moment probably couldn’t touch his finger to his nose, walk a straight line or even walk to the bedroom. “Go back to sleep, Tony.”

“I’m glad you kissed me.”

“Goodnight Tony.”

“If you hadn’t kissed me we wouldn’t be like this, on the couch, under the blanket—kissing was good. Is good.” Tony’s head slid on Tim’s shoulder. “Thanks.”

“You’re welcome,” he pushed back an errant strand of hair that was tickling his cheek. “Kissing is good.” Hell, maybe Tim had kissed Tony (though that’s not how he remembered the incident) and had taken the giant leap of faith. Maybe it had just been the pain pills that had pushed Tony over the edge. In the scheme of things, who the hell cared who had kissed whom. Like Tony had said, Kissing is good. 

The end


End file.
